


My Forever

by Len0306a



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 30 Minute Fic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cannibalism, Death, Depression, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Immortality, Kinda, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Werecreature Stiles, and I mean everyone, everyone dies, lots of death, slight gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 11:13:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14693034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Len0306a/pseuds/Len0306a
Summary: Stiles was something, and he didn't know what he is. He is weary and broken, and watches the world spin.





	My Forever

**Author's Note:**

> This was made in 20-30 minutes and I'm in a writing rut. Which means this has inspired me to continue Nouvelle Vie, so be proud.
> 
> EDIT: I forgot to mention that this was inspired by The Magnus Archives, which you should check out! They're on [The Rusty Quill](http://rustyquill.com/the-magnus-archives) or iTunes!

He was made of shadows and darkness. He lived to see famine kill and humanity shed it’s skin. He breathes in death like smoke, so cloying and attractive. He learns what Humans call him, learns that he is made of fear and nightmares. He eats whoever he wishes, and floats through air like smog. He learned to hid inside his skin, bathe in light as if he was meant for it, and pretends until he becomes sick. He’s been made countess times, and watched his makers scream as they realized they created a monster. 

 

He wonders if he was always this way (he was). 

 

He dances with spirits made of grief, set fire to the ones made of light. He twisted souls until they broke, and watched humans shed their skin to become something  _ more _ . He’s come to love the flavor of fear, let in waltz on his tongue in harmony with hate. He was something spiteful, formed of broken pieces of corpses. He found joyous men and filled them with the fear of the unknown, and made his own game. He’d wait for someone’s death, and then bring him to his  _ playroom _ . They’d choose a game, and Stiles would always win. 

 

He’s given them  second chance at life, and they always gave it up.  _ Go Fish, Chess, Solitaire, Checkers, Go,  _ and millions more. They never asked what would happen if they win, and he never told. They would finally die, pleas leaving their lips like petals. He finally lost at almost two billion years later, and laughed at the man who chose  _ Russian Roulette _ . They took his place, and he was free to live. He was reborn, a boy with an unpronounceable name, filled with a false spark. 

 

They called him  _ Stiles _ when he turned two, and he lavished at the feeling of a beating heart. No moss filling his chest cavity, no dark room filled with dead bodies. Stiles learned that people cheat life when he found out about  _ werewolves _ . He raged that they lived almost two-hundred years, when he’s dealt with kids dying at  _ three _ . Forcing them to play a game they had no chance of winning, and taking their souls for losing. He found out people called him a Grim Reaper, although the definition wasn’t entirely correct. Stiles never spoke of his past. 

 

Stiles remembers what he used to be, and wished for it. Mindless games, only two possible outcomes. Stiles slaughters creatures behind his best friend, Scott McCall’s,back. He saw the creatures inside human skin, saw hunger inside Allison’s heart. He saw the compassion in Peter’s soul, yet set him on fire again. Stiles was worse than all of them. 

 

They grew up, and Stiles anticipated death. Welcomed it with warmth and care, hoping to be back where he  _ belonged _ . He was proud to have survived for thirty-fours years, and then Peter was back in his life. He was an Alpha again, and bit Stiles without consent. Stiles wept when he felt the teeth sink in, tore away even when he could feel the power coursing through his system. Stiles wept and fell, curled into a ball and  _ cried _ . He missed his dank, dirty room full of games, missed winning the game of life. 

 

It feels like Stiles lost (Technically, he did).

 

Stiles lived with Peter for thirty more years, before the grief became too much. He said goodbye in the form of his  _ real  _ name, what he was called before becoming  _ Stiles _ . He left Peter with a bank account full of money, a pack, and a hole inside the ‘wolves heart. Stiles wished for death,  _ tried everything _ , but he always woke back up. 

 

Stiles took every drug, hung himself, slit his wrists, slit his throat, skinned himself, and yet nothing  _ worked _ . Stiles wept once again, for the death he could never have. He traveled the world in rags and stolen money, started fights just to feel the pain. He was always caked in blood and dirt, and hid inside the woods. Stiles cursed whatever god existed because they wouldn’t let him rest. He tired himself instead, pranced around the woods as an animal. He lost himself to instinct, and fed on the disgust people felt as they saw the rabid thing Stiles was. Skinny down to the bone, matted fur, and yellowed teeth. He tore apart their bodies’ everytime they sneer. He had a pile of corpses in his den, and fed on them when he was hungry. 

 

Stiles just wanted to die.

 

He was found, Peter petting his dark, smokey fur with a  _ Lets go home, darling _ and found humanity again. He traveled back to Beacon Hills and wept when he saw the house. He didn’t want to be there, he wanted to be  _ home _ . Stiles was sick of pretending he was something he wasn’t, and touched his face. Supple skin was pet with callouses, and Stiles stared at his reflection. He still looked thirty, and cut his wrists again. They healed, Stiles cleaned up, and then he read. Ever book he could get his rough hands on, devouring them as food. Peter didn’t force him to eat, and left him until he was ready to be around humans.

 

He stared at the wrinkled face, graying hair and crows feet, and all that Stiles wanted was to  _ age _ . Grow to dust and return to the world, yet he knew that would never happen; Stiles was stuck in existence for eternity. Stiles knew he was not longer a monster, but something pitiful and disgusting. 

 

Stiles learned magic and strength, and learned how to kill a man in under ten seconds. He breathed fire and life, no longer shadows and smoke. He made Peter like him, a punishment for what the ‘wolf had done to him. Peter accepted it fully, without pain. Stiles lived with Peter until the world flooded, and global warming devoured everything that had life. Him and his wolf drifted through space, watching planets be made and destroyed. They danced with stars and devoured nebulas, and finally laid down to rest. 

  
They always woke up, until something  _ new _ devoured them. They danced in the stomach of Kronos, or Saturn, and watched the world become new again. They remained that way, until Peter grew more wrinkles, and Stiles’ hair started to grey. It must’ve been Saturn’s blood that kill them, Stiles thought happily, gripping Peter’s hand. The being gripped back, until his hand went slack. Stiles was finally allowed to rest. 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt me on my [ Tumblr ](https://len0306a.tumblr.com) I need inspiration lmao. 
> 
> Lena/Lee


End file.
